


A penchant for looking at rocks

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Asthma, Asthma Attacks, College AU, Crying, Developing Relationship, Fluffy Moments, Friends to Friends who are about to be lovers, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kaito has asthma.jpg, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rantaro Sonia and Byakuya are rich kid squadd, Rantaro gets injured a lot in his travels, Slow Burn, Tending to injuries, They are still friends, This is ten thousand words of self indulgence, but they only vibe momentarily, injuries, kind of, past momoharu, the good stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Though, now that he’s getting a better look at the guy, Rantaro looks rough. He’s resting a hand on the doorframe, as though to keep himself on his feet, and he’s smiling sheepishly, but Kaito catches a flicker of pain as it makes its way across his features. His other arm is laid across his midsection, and since they’re standing relatively close together, Kaito can hear how labourious his breathing is. They don’t know each other, but Kaito thinks it’s acceptable to be a little bit worried, considering how every time he’s seen Rantaro around, the guy has had a carefree smile on his face.“Momota, hey,” Rantaro gets out. “Sorry-- I think I have the wrong dorm.”---Five of the times that Kaito helps Rantaro when he's hurt plus one of the times that Rantaro helps Kaito.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Momota Kaito
Comments: 53
Kudos: 92





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> one of my heavier works. bullet wounds. head injuries. y'know the vibe.
> 
> i don't write a lot of whump and this is exactly why :^) but yea read with caution

Kaito closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, feeling joints in his shoulders and upper back popping as he rakes his hands down his face, feels the scratchiness of his stubble against his palms, and yawns. It’s getting closer to three in the morning than two by now, according to the blinding red numbers blinking from the digital clock on his nightstand, but the assignment that he finally finished wrapping up has kept him up. And he’s had to stay up to finish it, because it’s due tomorrow afternoon before the lecture. He’s not the type to procrastinate, not usually, because he finds it irresponsible to put things off, but he’s been busy the past couple days, and it’s been hard to squeeze in time to finish up the second half of the assignment.

College has already been particularly hectic, but it’s not like staying in the dorms is free, despite the fact that Kaito is here on scholarship, and so between working at the frozen yogurt shop on campus and trying to maintain a half-decent social life, he’s been too beat, recently, to sit down at work on homework upon returning to his dorm room. Kaito casts a longing look at his bed but manages to tear his eyes away. He’d better shower first, wash the crusty hair gel out now that he’s had it in too long, brush his teeth and floss and all that. Maintaining good personal hygiene is a priority. People who are in the position to take good care of themselves but don’t make Kaito upset. He shouldn’t sacrifice his integrity just because he’s a bit tired.

Kicking his desk chair to the side, Kaito ambles over to the closet and grabs a clean towel and a new pair of boxers. Clothes he can worry about in the morning (he doesn’t use pajamas) but the boxers are a must because sleeping naked is… arguably a very normal thing, but not Kaito’s favourite. Especially not with the borderline paper-like sheets the dorms provide. He can handle it in most places, but some things he just has to keep his undies on for.

As he’s about to step into a bathroom, a sharp knock sounds at the door to his room, and Kaito turns around, frowning. Who the  _ hell  _ is at his door right now? Tossing his boxers and towel onto the lid of the toilet, he pads back out into the room, looking at the clock again. It’s five minutes ‘til. Forget being at his door, who’s even awake? Kaito grabs his phone from the nightstand, checking to see if he’s missed any calls or text messages (he turned his ringer off so that he could focus on homework) but the only message he’s gotten was from his friend Shuichi, and it came in about an hour ago. Just a meme about that detective movie he dragged Kaito to last week. It elicits a snort from him, but then there’s another knock at his door, so Kaito drops his phone onto the bed and walks over, not wasting any time in yanking it open.

“Oh.” Kaito frowns without meaning to, feels his brow begin to furrow. “What’s up, Amami?”

They’re not good friends-- or even really friends at all, more like friendly acquaintances because they’re both taking a geology class that convenes every two weeks. Rantaro is a student at this university part-time, to Kaito’s knowledge; he’s never around campus, and there’s only been an assortment of lectures that he’s actually heard of the guy attending, but he hasn’t missed a single geology lecture. They definitely don’t have the kind of friendship that would warrant late-night dorm visits. Not at three in the morning, or not in general. Kaito didn’t even realise Rantaro knew where his dorm room was.

Though, now that he’s getting a better look at the guy, Rantaro looks  _ rough.  _ He’s resting a hand on the doorframe, as though to keep himself on his feet, and he’s smiling sheepishly, but Kaito catches a flicker of pain as it makes its way across his features. His other arm is laid across his midsection, and since they’re standing relatively close together, Kaito can hear how labourious his breathing is. They don’t know each other, but Kaito thinks it’s acceptable to be a little bit worried, considering how every time he’s seen Rantaro around, the guy has had a carefree smile on his face.

“Momota, hey,” Rantaro gets out. “Sorry-- I think I have the wrong dorm.” He pushes himself off the doorframe, and it’s subtle, but Kaito catches the way that he winces when he lowers his arm to his side. He looks tired. “I don’t live on campus, so it’s kind of-- anyway, do you-- by chance-- know where Mukuro Ikusaba rooms? It’s alright if you don’t, I’ll find it the place, but--”

“I don’t,” Kaito interrupts, frowning. “Dude, are you okay? What happened?”

“Huh?” Rantaro raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Kaito suppresses the urge to scoff. The ego on this guy. Anybody with eyes could probably tell that something happened. Rantaro appears to read it on Kaito’s face, because when he smiles, it’s a bit embarrassed. “That bad, huh? Don’t worry about it. Just, uh, ran into a bit of trouble on a trip.” His tone is evasive. Kaito gets the impression that pushing wouldn’t really get him anywhere. Besides, it’s not his place. It’s not like they’re really friends. He should probably just say  _ okay  _ and close the door.

That doesn’t really feel right, though, because there’s no  _ real  _ way for Rantaro to find his friend’s dorm. He could go around knocking on every door, but while Kaito doesn’t think any of the other people living here are necessarily bad, he can’t say that it’s safe for someone to do while injured. Plus, if he’s being honest with himself, Rantaro looks like he’s about to keel over. Just-- maybe not. “Look, why don’t you just come in, man?”

Rantaro gives him a skeptical look. “It’s okay, Momota, I’d really--”

“You look like shit,” Kaito says. They don’t know each other well and maybe it’s not the most tactful, but there’s no point lying when it’s three in the morning and Kaito is in the position to help. He knows a thing or two about this sort of thing, so it’s not like he’ll be useless at it. “If you don’t need to go to a hospital or anything, I could just fix you up and you could crash here until it’s light out and you can head back to your apartment or whatever. I don’t know if I feel okay just closing the door right now, y’know?”

“I really don’t want to impose.” Rantaro frowns.

“What?” Kaito shrugs. “We’re both guys, right?” That doesn’t really mean anything. It might’ve, back in high school, when Kaito was in blatant denial about his sexuality, but nowadays he’s willing to admit to his bisexuality. What he means to say is  _ it doesn’t mean anything because we’re hardly even friends  _ but that’s not really the way that he talks. Plus, he doesn’t want to make Rantaro feel awkward about any of this. It’s not a huge deal. There’s a long moment of silence, during which Rantaro is clearly weighing his options, but Kaito’s never been one for excessive rumination. “Here,” he kicks his door further open with one foot and reaches out, grabbing Rantaro’s arm and dragging him inside.

To Rantaro’s credit, he hardly protests; probably too tired to really say anything. The smile he gives as Kaito closes the door is chagrined, but he makes his way further into the room regardless. It’s a quality that Kaito can appreciate in a person, the ability to understand when a conversation is over. Kaito is stubborn, and he likes other stubborn people, but that doesn’t mean it’s very easy to change his mind when he’s made it up.

“You can sit down on my bed, I have a first aid kid in the bathroom.” Kaito calls over his shoulder after locking the door and heading back into the bathroom. He avoids eye contact with himself in the mirror and instead grabs the kit from the cupboard. It isn’t anything super fancy, but it’s definitely better stocked than the average person’s. Rantaro seems to think so, at least, based on the raised-eyebrow look he shoots Kaito when the kit is opened.

“Are you in training to be a doctor, Momota?”

“Pfft, are you kidding?” Kait shakes his head, grinning. “Like I’d be able to do that stuff with such a shabby collection. If I was  _ really  _ training to be a doctor-- and I totally could, by the way--”

“I believe you,” Rantaro assures, raising his arms in a gesture of surrender-- and then wincing, rolling one of his shoulders, and lowering them back down to his sides.

“--I’d have a more stocked kit,” he continues, ignoring the intervention. “I’m going to school to work with JAXA.”

“Oh, an astronaut-in-training, huh?” smiles Rantaro.

“Sorta,” Kaito chuckles. What he doesn’t say is that one too many hospital trips throughout middle and high school probably shot his chances of going to space forever. Having asthma (which he does) is one thing, but recovering from a full-on respiratory disease doesn’t help him any. No, it’s mission control for Kaito Momota. But he’ll do that well, too. Instead, he says, “I’ve always had a penchant for looking at rocks,” and grins up at Rantaro as he pulls out one of the unopened salves he has in the kit. He’d use one that’s already opened, but that stuff probably has dried skin particles and shit in it. No thanks.

“You do well in geology.” Rantaro remarks amicably, though Kaito senses that he picked up on the fact that Kaito omitted some information from what he just said. Rantaro seems like a pretty closed-off kinda guy, (who gets into a  _ bit of trouble  _ on a trip, of all things?), so he’ll probably understand not to push. “Better than me, for sure. I tend to think that all rocks look the same.”

“You would,” Kaito seethes, but loses any joke-hostility after a moment as Rantaro laughs, and then hisses. Probably a bruised rib or something. “Think anything is broken?”

“Nah, I’d go to a hospital for that.” Rantaro replies quietly. “Just a bit bruised.” He gives Kaito a wary look, and it’s kind of tough to decipher what it means for a second, but then Kaito realises that Rantaro is probably expecting to ask him  _ why  _ he’s roughed up. Maybe his friend Mukuro would. Or maybe she  _ wouldn’t, _ and that’s why he was going to her. A vaguely familiar protective voice in the back of Kaito’s mind urges him to do so, but he brushes it aside. It would probably just make Rantaro uncomfortable. Besides, it’s none of his business. He already insisted that Rantaro come inside and stay the rest of the night here. He can respect his privacy.

“You’d better take off your shirt then.” Kaito says. When Rantaro’s lips curl up, Kaito scoffs and adds, “So I can tend to the bruises, dumbass,” but can’t help grinning when Rantaro laughs.

Through his chuckles, he manages to say, “Buy me dinner first, at least,” and then they’re both laughing (probably because it’s late and Kaito’s still got calculus on the mind) but Kaito makes an effort to stop when he gets short of breath, not wanting to start coughing like he does when he laughs too hard and kill the moment.

It’s four in the morning when Kaito passes out, on the floor, after what was probably the fastest shower he’s ever taken. He went ahead and put on some pants so that it wouldn’t be weird, but neglected to use a shirt because Rantaro is shirtless too so it doesn’t really matter. He conked out pretty much immediately upon lying down on the carpet, and when his alarm wakes him up the next morning, Rantaro is gone, he’s got a blanket draped over him, and a sticky note with a phone number and a little smiley face placed on his forehead.

(Rantaro leaves behind a faint smell of evergreen trees, and Kaito cuts himself shaving thinking about it.)


	2. Two

Kaito gets back to his dorms around nine o’clock in the evening but passes out barely ten minutes later. It’s Wednesday, which meant he was working a double-shift at the froyo shop, and the second half of his shift he was joined by his least favourite coworker. Fifteen minutes with Kokichi is enough to give Kaito a pounding headache. Four hours and he’s ready to sleep for several days straight. In fact, he’s fully equipped to do so, and as he closes his eyes, all thoughts of homework shoved out of his mind, Kaito thinks that he just might.

His sleep is relatively dreamless; of course, when Kaito wakes up several hours later, he’s a bit too disoriented to actually remember if he did dream or not. At first he’s not sure why he even wakes up in the first place, but then he checks his phone, which he was browsing memes on when he fell asleep, and sees that he got a text fifteen minutes ago from Rantaro.

Not that they’ve been talking very  _ regularly,  _ it’s more like, since Rantaro came back injured, Kaito’s had more of a general awareness of the guy. He spends a lot of time watching him during geology lectures, if only because he was startled to realise the morning after Rantaro stayed the night that he doesn’t really know anything about him. Kaito prides himself on being a person who knows a thing or two about the people he’s close with. But when it comes to Rantaro, it doesn’t seem like really anybody knows all that much about him.

The most notable example of this was when Rantaro and a couple friends of his, a junior and a sophomore at their university named Sonia and Byakuya (respectively) came to Kaito’s work to get frozen yogurt. Kaito didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they weren’t talking all that quietly, and he was admittedly pretty curious as to what they were talking about. It seemed like, throughout the conversation, they only ever talked about Sonia or Byakuya. Any attempts to steer the conversation over to Rantaro were deflected, or else met with a self-deprecating joke, and then the subject returned to the other two.

It’s a position that Kaito often finds himself in, but viscerally unsettling to witness from an outsider’s perspective. He wonders if it ever feels that way watching him talk with Shuichi or Maki, directing the attention back onto them so as to avoid talking about himself.

Anyway, they’ve texted a couple times. Rantaro has sent him rock memes and compared them all to granite and Kaito has responded with varying levels of distaste, or occasionally outright offense, though always in jest. It’s not really Kaito’s thing, getting needlessly upset over things that don’t matter.

This time, the text that Rantaro has sent isn’t an image, but a message. A brief one.

_ [Are you awake right now?] _

Clearly, if Rantaro is truly the person at Kaito’s door despite not receiving a response, then the situation is desperate. Kaito throws his phone to the side and runs a hand through his hair, straightening out his shirt and hoping that he doesn’t look terribly disheveled as he strides to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open.

“Hey,” Rantaro’s voice is smiling. “I was beginning to think you were out, or something.”

“What happened?” Kaito asks, and curses his voice for sounding thick with sleep. He blinks hard, shaking his head, and clears his throat before trying again. “You alright?”

Outwardly, Rantaro looks okay. He’s standing without the support of the doorframe this time, and when he rolls his shoulders, discomfort doesn’t flash over his features. Kaito is beginning to wonder if Rantaro visits his friends during the early hours of the morning all the time, not just when he’s injured. But it seems, Kaito notices after a moment, like he’s favouring his right leg. When he shifts his weight, his expression tightens, and he utters, “Think I twisted my ankle.”

“Shit,” Kaito intones. “Why aren’t you at a hospital?”

  
“Too long to walk, didn’t want to waste resources calling an ambulance,” Rantaro explains, a tad sharply, though Kaito thinks it’s due to pain rather than any particular strong emotion, as he slides an arm around Rantaro’s middle and helps him hobble into the room. “Usually I get injured traveling, this one wasn’t. I was just heading back to my apartment.”

“Right,” Kaito grunts, depositing Rantaro onto his bed. He wants to ask why he came  _ here,  _ to Kaito, rather than to someone else, but when he meets his eyes, his willpower drains. He’s too tired to hold much of a conversation right now; maybe sleepy is the better word. He’d better try, though, before Rantaro starts feeling bad about it. “Well, you’re in luck, because twists and sprains will heal fast if you’re careful with them.” Kaito would know; he’s had a couple of his own. “And I’m certified in wilderness first-aid.”

“Hm. Considering that we’re not in the wilderness,” Rantaro grins. “I don’t know how much that’s going to help you.”

Kaito huffs out a laugh. “A wise thing, ribbing the guy who’s about to splint your ankle and drive you to the hospital.”

A bit of the laughter drains from Rantaro’s expression. “You don’t have to do that much,” he begins.

“Forget it, you’re here.” Kaito thinks he has a sam splint hiding somewhere around his room. As he looks for it, he keeps talking. “So, tripped, or something?”

“Or something,” Rantaro agrees quietly. Kaito decides not to push. “Sorry for waking you up. I didn’t want to, but Mukuro’s out of her dorm tonight. I think she’s spending time with her girlfriend.”

Kaito glances at the clock. “If she’s out at one in the morning, sounds like she’s doing a little more than  _ spending time.” _ _   
  
_

“Gross!” Rantaro lets out a surprised laugh that makes Kaito’s heart squeeze and twirl in his chest. “I’ve known her since we were kids, I don’t want to think about that.” Having found the orange offender, Kaito turns around, grinning, and meets the exasperated look in Rantaro’s green eyes with a full lack of shame. “What’s that?” He asks, gesturing at the splint in Kaito’s hands.

“This?” Kaito asks in return, even though there’s literally nothing else that Rantaro could be referring to. “It’s called a sam splint. I’ll use it on your ankle. I think I have some compression bandages in my first aid kid that I can use. You shouldn’t sleep with them though, so I’m gonna go ahead and drive you to the hospital afterwards.”

Kaito is met with a strange kind of silence from Rantaro’s end, so he gets to his feet and walks into the bathroom, pulling down the first-aid kit and opening it up. Two compression bandages is more than enough. Kaito grabs one and heads back into his bedroom, kneeling in front of Rantaro where he’s sitting on the bed and crossing his legs.

“Your right leg, right?” Kaito asks.

“Yeah,” Rantaro breathes, and gently, Kaito tugs off his shoe (which doesn’t have laces, so it comes off just fine) and places it on the floor next to him before rolling up his pant leg. He tries not to acknowledge the quiet sound of pain that Rantaro makes but lightens his touch around the swollen area, getting a good look at it before he moves to mold the sam splint.

He works in silence, mainly because he’s trying to concentrate (and think back on all the times where he’s had to make himself a splint, or one for someone else, which is admittedly a lot easier) but he thinks that Rantaro is watching his movements, so he tries not to focus too hard on it. After a while, though, the silence becomes stifling, so as he fits the sam splint to Rantaro’s foot, he asks, “So, where do you go?”

“What do you mean?” Rantaro murmurs.

“You’re only a part-time student here, right? You go on a lot of trips, and I don’t see you around campus as much as I see a lot of other people. Or at all, really, save for the time you came to my work with Nevermind and Togami.” He holds the splint in place but begins to wrap it with the compression bandage, feeling a built guilty for wrapping it tightly but knowing that he has to. Rantaro’s silence is pensive, but Kaito doesn’t break it, figuring that he’s just contemplating how to respond.

Eventually, Rantaro says, “Not any one fixed place. A number of places.”

“Yeah? Different ones every time?”   
  


“No.” Rantaro’s breath hitches when Kaito wraps the bandage around his ankle; Kaito mutters an apology. “The same places. I go new places every so often, but never without a reason.”

“Sure, we all have reasons.” Kaito says, noncommittal, as he ties off the bandage. “I’m done. You could walk with it, probably, but I’ll help you out to my car.” After a moment, he adds, “What’s your reason?”

Rantaro doesn’t respond for what feels like a very long stretch of time. Within it, Kaito turns off the light to his room and gets to his feet, grabbing his car keys, his phone, and his jacket (as well as Rantaro’s shoe) before helping him to the door. Just as they’re exiting the room, Rantaro asks quietly, “Do you have any siblings, Kaito?”

The question is a little bit out of the blue. “No,” he replies, resting Rantaro against the wall to lock his door. “I have friends who I’d consider siblings, but nothing like that, man.”

“Then you probably wouldn’t get it.” Rantaro’s voice is very soft. “But, I appreciate your interest.”

Kaito has to stop himself from asking how many people actually show it; and, further, saying that it’s a crime they don’t.


	3. Three

It sucks leaving lectures before they’re finished, but Kaito likes coughing in front of people even less than he does missing class, so when he gets the familiar scratching sensation in his throat halfway through his professor’s remarks about Japan’s history with neighbouring countries, he tunes everything else out and slips out of the lecture hall, barely managing to be out of the door by the time he starts choking.

It’s not a big deal. He’s probably just coming down with a cold. Force of habit that made him leave. He coughs for barely more than fifteen seconds before his lungs calm down, and he’s breathing normally again. It’s just that coughing, if allowed to continue, can turn into more coughing, and then he can’t breathe, and then he’s fumbling for his inhaler through a veil of stupid tears, and really, he’d like the avoid all the dramatics by isolating himself when it happens. He hasn’t had a coughing fit in front of anyone except Maki since high school and that’s how he’d like it to stay, actually.

As he turns around to reenter the lecture hall, behind him, someone asks, “Momota, you alright?” and he turns around, quickly replacing the upset on his face with a smile. Rantaro, though, isn’t smiling; his eyebrows are knit together, actually, and he looks concerned. Probably the first time he’s ever seen Rantaro wearing an expression other than a smile in the daylight. “I heard coughing.”

“Yeah.” Kaito sniffs, despite not having much need to. “I think I’m coming down with a cold,” he chuckles. “But I’m doing great, man, thanks for checking in.” He flashes a thumbs up, and despite looking unconvinced, Rantaro nods, and so he turns and reenters the hall.

When he returns to his seat, only his friend Gonta has noticed that he left, and Gonta mutters that he’ll send Kaito a text with a picture of the notes he missed after the lecture is over, so everything is pretty okay.

About a week later, as Kaito is getting ready for his least favourite class (due purely to the fact that it takes place at  _ seven in the morning) _ there’s another knock at his door.

He and Rantaro have been talking a bit more, recently. Rantaro sent him a picture of the stars while he was in the Philippines, and Kaito spammed him with facts about the stars in the picture, and since then conversation has been pretty easy. Usually they talk a bit in geology too, though a lot of their conversations in that class consist of Rantaro holding up a rock and grinning and Kaito waving it away, too tired to deal with his slander.

Aside from that, Rantaro did pop up at his door again a week and a half ago, but it was with takeout food, in light of the upcoming geology exam, and he was just offering that they study together. He has a very particular way of knocking, Kaito’s noticed. Crisp and strong. He must have strong hands. Kaito has  _ hella  _ strong hands, so it’s not something he’d ordinarily be impressed by, but he’s noticed Rantaro’s. The hair on them is pale and fine, so it’s difficult to see. His knuckles are sharp though, and his fingers are long. The numerous rings on them only adds to the effect. Actually, Rantaro just has a lot of jewelery in general. Kaito used to think it was weird when a guy wears jewelery, but he appreciates it a  _ lot  _ nowadays. Especially from Rantaro, who switched out his silver rings in his cartilage piercings for translucent green spikes. Pretty.

The knock just now, though, was quiet. A bit sloppy. So much so that Kaito is having a hard time thinking it’s Rantaro at his door. But nobody else really comes to his dorm, not without calling or texting first. Shuichi doesn’t go anywhere without getting direct confirmation from the person he’s visiting that they know he’s coming. And Maki isn’t the type for visiting people at their homes.

He finishes pulling his sweatshirt over his head, careful not to mess up the gel in his hair, and walks to the door, opening it. Kaito isn’t sure if he should be surprised that it actually  _ is  _ Rantaro standing in the hallway outside his room, or not, but the next thing that he registers is alarm.

“Dude, what the hell--”

Before Kaito can finish his sentence, Rantaro tilts his head forward, wiping a trickle of blood from his forehead with the back of one hand, and Kaito shakes himself out of it, reaching out to steady him by the shoulders. His green hair is stained dark with blood, and his eyes are unfocused. He’s blinking slowly and disorientedly, like he’s having a hard time grounding himself, and when he opens his mouth to speak, barely more than an outtake of air escapes him. Kaito gets the picture.

“Shit,” he utters, but tugs Rantaro’s arm around his shoulders. “You get into a lot of trouble, huh?” The nature of the way he’s carrying Rantaro means that he can feel the rumble in Rantaro’s chest when he chuckles, but he also feels the gaspy, short breaths that he’s taking. In his hand, Rantaro’s wrist is clammy, and he barely manages to maneuver the guy over to his bed before he drops down, swaying dangerously and looking like he’s going to collapse.

Kaito bites his lip. He hasn’t dealt with a multitude of head injuries before. He wants to ask what happened, but that can wait. He should focus on stemming the blood flow. Cleaning the injury.

Does he have saline solution his kit? Kaito slips into the bathroom, careful not the get blood from his hands on the door, but he isn’t sure. He’s not about to clean off the injury with straight up rubbing alcohol. That would be really damaging to the tissue. Shit! When was the last time he even  _ got  _ a head injury, much less tended to one? He’s tempted, for a moment, to just call an ambulance, but by the time they get here, Rantaro will have lost a lot more blood. When did he even get injured?

Thank god, he has saline-- and plenty of gauze to go around-- so Kaito brings the whole damn thing and stops Rantaro from lying down with a gentle hand on his shoulder. One of Rantaro’s hands goes up to close around his sleeve, but his grip is weak, and his fingers are shaky. Kaito forces himself not to think about it, combing what used to be soft green hair away from the injury. Back of his head. Looks kind of bad. Kaito swallows down a lump in his throat.

“What happened, man?” He mutters. For a minute he thinks Rantaro is too dizzy to form coherent thought, but then his voice comes out, rough and jagged but present, and very loud in the room.

“Got me at the airport.” Kaito has  _ no  _ idea what that means.  _ Who  _ got Rantaro at the airport? “Guess I wasn’t very careful.” He closes his eyes and shivers, and Kaito shakes his head. Enough talking, he has to focus on the damn injury.

Despite how careful he tries to be cleaning it, Rantaro’s breath hitches and releases with pained, hissing exhalations of air. Kaito can tell he’s gritting his teeth by the set of his jaw, and as he packs in gauze and wraps his head in bandages to keep it in place, Rantaro is spent, his forehead resting against Kaito’s abdomen.

Absentmindedly, Kaito cards one of his hands through Rantaro’s hair.

“I’m gonna drive you to the hospital,” Kaito says quietly. “Hey, Amami, did you hear me?”

“Don’t,” Rantaro returns. “I’ll be fine. I-- You have a lecture, that’s why you’re awake right now, I should,” he fumbles for words. “I shouldn’t have even-- you’ll be--”

“Get over yourself, man, you’re crazy if you think for one second that you’re not going to the hospital,” Kaito chuckles dryly. “It’s not graded on attendance, but even if it was, I’d still be taking you. You’re not in the position to argue,” he adds, more gently, resting his hand on the back of Rantaro’s neck.

Rantaro hums and tilts his head slightly, as if encouraging the contact, but all he says is, “Don’t wanna trouble you any further.”

  
_ You’re already here,  _ Kaito thinks, but he just leans forward and helps Rantaro to his feet.


	4. Four

Stupid how seeing someone on the verge of passing out from bloodloss can change the way you look at them.

Not that Kaito was  _ ever  _ looking at Rantaro  _ entirely  _ platonically (the first time Rantaro smiled in Kaito’s general direction, he nearly swooned, which was interesting, because typically? Men don’t swoon) but recently he’s been noticing everything. The way Rantaro’s eyebrows raise, skeptically, whenever he’s about to make a sarcastic remark. The tiny dimples in his cheeks when he smiles. The pale freckles across his nose, his cheeks, his shoulders. When he stands somewhere for too long, he hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants, and he never sits properly in chairs, even in restaurants.

  
When he laughs, his nose wrinkles at the bridge, and he covers his face with one hand-- is he embarrassed? Because Kaito finds it downright distracting. Sometimes he’ll be spacing out in geology and default to watching Rantaro take notes (counting the creases in his forehead as he looks down at what he has so far) and think about how foolishly thick his high school self was, to ever entertain any notions of being straight. Kaito likes to think that he has always had a pretty strong preference for women. He had a huge crush on Kaede Akamatsu, for example, an old friend of his (and also a lesbian) and he and Maki dated for around three years when they were younger. He’s never been involved with a man before, actually, it’s just that that infatuation he developed with Shuichi in their third year of high school could not be ignored, no matter how hard he tried.

But with Rantaro it’s unreal. Kaito feels stupid, like some kind of lovesick teenager. (Vaguely he registers that years of repression will cause people to develop more slowly, but he doesn’t care. It’s embarrassing lying around in his room at night and waiting for Rantaro’s texts to come in. Forget the fact that he’s a man, he’s nineteen, for Christ’s sake! He should be thinking about other things, like homework, or his fucking job, but instead he thinks about other, more trivial things, like the spacy look Rantaro sometimes wears during lectures, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance.

Kaito is determined not to make things weird between them, though. Unfortunately, the way that Kaito deals with any strong emotion is overzealousness, which means that recently, Rantaro has had to deal with an influx of text messages about self-care, and self betterment, which are Kaito’s two favourite topics. If he wasn’t so totally cut out for astronomy, perhaps he’d look into a career of life-coaching, because he’d be great at it, according to Shuichi.

Also, he finally goes to Rantaro’s apartment, which is thrilling. There isn’t much to see. Either Rantaro is a major minimalist, or he just isn’t around often enough to decorate, because the walls re empty of any decorations. The only exception is his bedroom, which is stock-full of souvenirs from different places. San Francisco. Saigon. Canberra. Places Kaito could never dream of going, but has heard of, and that apparently Rantaro has been to all the time. When he remarks that he’d like to go to New York someday, Rantaro gives him a strange look, but the next time he sees him, he has a sweatshirt he bought from a gift store there in hand.

“It would’ve ruined the surprise if I’d asked your size, so I estimated.” Rantaro explains. “If it doesn’t fit, you can give it back and I’ll get you another one.”

Kaito frowns down at it. “You flew out to New York City to buy me a sweatshirt?”

“Yeah, I was planning a trip anyway.” Rantaro shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Why? Do you not like it? I can get you something else.”

“No, I--” Kaito feels very odd standing there, half wanting to cry, and is worried for a moment that he’s going to start coughing with all the emotion in his chest. “Nevermind. Thanks, man.”

“Of course,” Rantaro smiles, far too softly, and Kaito falls asleep wearing the sweatshirt that night.

When he mentions it to Maki, she snorts out loud. “I see you haven’t gotten any better at pining than you were in high school.”

“Hey!” Kaito protests, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shuichi smiles, though, exchanging a glance with Maki. “I’d call it emotional constipation, but you seem pretty aware of how you’re feeling this time, Kaito. You should tell him. It sounds like he feels the same way, if he flew to New York to get you something over an offhanded remark.”

“You guys are the worst,” Kaito groans. “I’m not asking for  _ advice,  _ I’m  _ venting.  _ The teasing is unsolicited.”

“But expected.” Maki says. “Because we’re your friends.”

Kaito can’t argue with that.

By mid-January, Kaito is spending a decent chunk of his time with Rantaro. What sticks out to him more is the fact that since the concussion incident, Rantaro hasn’t gotten any major injuries. He came back from a trip with a bruised cheek, once, but cheerfully stated that he had simply gotten into a minor altercation and there was nothing to do about it. The bruise was already well on its way towards healing, anyway, so Kaito wasn’t going to go mother hen on him. It technically isn’t even his place. Rantaro probably goes to him, or has gone to him, rather, for help in those areas because Kaito doesn’t make a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be, so he figures he’d better keep up that trend.

Kaito is staying up late again, studying for mid-terms, on Thursday; the one day of the week he has no classes. He was working all morning, and took a really long nap during the afternoon, so staying up late now is pretty much a given. His phone is muted again, so that he can focus, but he glances at it every so often, wondering if he’s missed any texts. It’s not like he’s expecting anything. Rantaro’s out of cell service range right now, and Shuichi and Maki both have dates tonight, and Gonta only really texts him to talk about school work, and Kaito doesn’t communicate with a lot of other people via text message. At least, people who missing a text from would be problematic.

He doesn’t get up and check his phone, though. Gotta focus on testing. Kaito always tests well, but that’s not an excuse to slack off. He can feel his forehead creasing as he glares down at the page, a spot of pain between his eyebrows, and makes a constant effort to relax his expression. He should really just go to sleep. Tonight clearly isn’t going to be a productive night. If he keeps on going, his brain is only going to get more muddled and he--

A knock at his door cuts off his train of thought. Kaito doesn’t even think, he just shoots to his feet, and in a few steps, is at the door, unlocking it quickly and yanking it open.

True to form--

“Kaito,” Rantaro mutters, which isn’t  _ really  _ all that characteristic of him, because they’re not exactly on first-name-basis yet, but Kaito doesn’t give it any thought. His face is pale, and shiny with sweat. He’s holding his stomach, the fabric of his jacket balled up in his hand. Perhaps trying not to grimace. “Sorry, did I-- wake you up again?”

“No,” Kaito frowns. “Ama-- uh, Rantaro, what’s-- what happened, man? Are you o--”

“I’m fine,” Rantaro interrupts. His words are a little slurred. “Jus’ wanted to see you.” With that, he pitches forward and into Kaito’s arms.

Suppressing the urge to scream, Kaito juggles Rantaro in his arms, and after a moment, resorts to scooping him up and turning back around to lie him down on the bed. It’s difficult, at first glance, to see what the actual problem is-- but then Kaito notices the sticky wetness of his dark shirt, and swallowing hard, tugs the shirt up to reveal the bandages wrapped (haphazardly) around his midsection. Soaked through with blood.

Kaito doesn’t bother entertaining any thoughts about tending to the injury. He grabs for his phone and dials the police.

The hospital calls up Rantaro’s father, a very tall, very self-important man with green hair just like his. His smile lacks the kindness in his son’s, though, and Kaito doesn’t like him. He doesn’t seem to really want to be there, and when he exits Rantaro’s room, looking a bit harassed, he stops by the spot where Kaito is sitting and says, “I’m sorry that you had to be the one to phone the ambulance. This isn’t the first time Rantaro has ended up hospitalised because of that damn search.”

In lieu of asking what he means, Kaito says, a bit cooly, “It’s fine, Rantaro’s my friend. He has his reasons for what he does. Not my place to tell him to stop.” And shoots Rantaro’s father a pointed look. After a beat, the man turns and leaves, and Kaito finds himself trying to process what he just heard.

_ Search?  _ Kaito shakes his head, trying not to start piecing anything together. It feels like a violation of Rantaro’s privacy. He’ll just ask Rantaro directly when he wakes up.

But the next day, when Kaito is actually sitting at Rantaro’s bedside, the other guy fully awake, he finds that he doesn’t have a lot he really wants to ask other than, “What happened to you? The doctor said you had a bullet wound.”

Rantaro avoids meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He replies instead, which really doesn’t answer Kaito’s question. “I can’t believe you had to call an ambulance on my account.”

“Forget it, that shit’s free,” Kaito waves a hand and rolls his eyes. “The staff all know me here, anyway.” It sounds strange coming out of his mouth, because he never talks about it anymore, but he feels obligated to say  _ something.  _ Maybe just because, in that way, he and Rantaro are so  _ similar,  _ and in Rantaro’s position, Kaito would be absolutely mortified.

“Really?” Rantaro briefly meets his gaze. “Why do they--? Sorry--” he cuts himself off quickly, looking back down at his hands. “I shouldn’t ask, it’s probably--”

“Y’know, just some bad lung problems. Hereditary.” Kaito explains lightly. He busies himself by looking up at the light fixtures, remembering the first time he woke up underneath one of those slightly-yellowed, too-bright-lights. “You’ve seen me use my inhaler.”

“Yeah.” Rantaro agrees, very quietly. “I thought it was just asthma, though.”   
  


“And so it is. Now,” Kaito adds, meeting Rantaro’s gaze again. “But I got real familiar with all the workers here. And some of the patients. If you meet a nurse named Tsumiki, you should tell her hey for me. She was in and out here a lot growing up too, but now she works here as a nurse. Isn’t that kinda awesome? Talk about reclaiming your past.” Kaito offers a grin, but Rantaro only gives him a measured look, before seeming to deflate.

“Thanks, Kaito.”

“Huh? For what?” Kaito tilts his head to the side, though he has an inkling of what Rantaro is thanking him for.

“For this.” Rantaro gestures emptily at Kaito, shaking his head. “And-- the rest of it. You’re--” he breaks off. “I owe you a lot of explanations that you never really asked for.”

“Well, I asked for them,” Kaito shrugs. “But you’ll give them when you’re ready. I believe in you, you know.”

Rantaro’s smile is bitter. “Why?”

  
Kaito is taken aback by the question. “Why? Well, y’know,” he shrugs, figuring he can’t just say,  _ because I have a huge fucking crush on you, man,  _ so he replies instead, “I just know you’re worth believing in,” and hopes that’ll suffice.


	5. Five

April is Kaito’s favourite month for reasons entirely unrelated to the fact that it’s his birthday month. Though, that’s definitely a big part in it. He just likes all the colours. And it’s nice seeing the effect that springtime has on Maki, who has a similar appreciation for it to him (her last name does start with  _ haru,  _ after all). Shuichi doesn’t like the warmer weather as much; he flourishes during autumn, and subsequently winter, because all he owns are black turtlenecks, but it’s funny listening to him complain about the heat. Kaito supposes he should be more understanding, but if Shuichi actually got over himself and bought something other than a sweater, they wouldn’t really have this problem. So Shuichi deserves to suffer.

It’s nice seeing flowers again after all the grey of winter, and the rain is excellent too, because the days are warm again, and the water is pleasantly cool. Finals aren’t until the end of may, and so Kaito is enjoying himself while he can. Spending a lot of time outside as the days get longer again. Putting on his springtime playlist on Spotify and lying on the floor of his dorm, thinking about how he’s turning twenty soon, and how borderline sad it is that after three months, he and Rantaro are still simply friends.

That’s just how things are sometimes, Kaito supposes, but damn it sucks. Not his fault for wanting to hold Rantaro’s hand. They’ll get there eventually, he supposes.

It is ten in the evening on the Sunday before his birthday. Kaito has his springtime playlist on shuffle and he’s lying underneath his bed, tapping the rungs of his bedframe to the beat of the music. It’s a bit dusty under here, and he’s worried briefly that it’ll trigger his asthma, but he’s breathing very carefully, and he’s got his inhaler on standby, resting on his chest, in case of an emergency. It’ll be fine.

Halfway through a classical piece he only likes because of his old crush on Kaede Akamatsu, his phone starts to ring, interrupting the music. It’s the default ringtone, because Kaito doesn’t bother downloading songs to set as ringtones for his friends, but when he checks Caller ID, he sees that it’s Rantaro calling, so he rolls out from under the bed, yanks his earbuds from the headphone jack, and slams his thumb down on the answer button, pressing the phone against his ear.

“Rantaro?” He asks, skipping pleasantries and glancing at the clock. It’s not extraordinarily late, but Rantaro tends to stop texting him after nine (unless he’s very tired) because he wants Kaito to get a good amount of sleep. The fact that he’s calling probably couldn’t mean anything could. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Rantaro’s voice is quiet, though, and shaky. Too quiet for Kaito to really believe the assertion. “I’m fine.” He sniffles, and Kaito wonders momentarily if he has a cold, or something. “I’m not injured, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It sounds like Rantaro is telling the truth. Kaito relaxes. “Okay. Everything fine? Sounds like you’re outside.” Kaito can hear the sounds of footsteps, of people talking, of wind rushing on the other end of the line. In Rantaro’s silence, Kaito wonders where exactly he is, and why he’s calling. It takes him a moment to identify the quiet hiccuping noises coming from the other end. “Rantaro, are you cr--”

“I’m okay,” Rantaro cuts in. “Nothing’s wrong, I just--” he hesitates. “I’m just off the plane. I don’t know. This is really stupid, I’m going to hang up now, so--”

“Wait, wait,” Kaito pushes himself up to stand, scratching the back of his head. “Are you still at the airport?”

After a moment, Rantaro murmurs, “Yeah, I am.”

Kaito pauses. “Do you want me to come grab you?”

The hesitation in the silence between them, despite the countless miles, is palpable. “Yeah, I do,” Rantaro whispers. Barely audible over the sound of the wind rushing.

“Okay. I’ll-- be right there. Hang tight, man.”

One of them hangs up. Kaito barely registers yanking his sweatshirt (the one Rantaro got him) over his head and grabbing his keys, heading out of his dorm room and out into the garage where his car is parked. He’d take the bullet train, except that even now, late at night, it’s bound to be crowded on the way back from the airport, and he doesn’t really want to make Rantaro sit through that, because he thinks he remembers Rantaro mentioning being claustrophobic. (Cars aren’t great in that area, but it’s a better alternative than climbing onto a dead-silent and much-too-bright train packed with people. With strangers.)

Kaito parks his car and jogs the rest of the way into the actual airport, feeling his lungs burn a bit but ignoring it in favour of looking around. The airport is big, but he knows Rantaro is coming back from Spain, and recent arrivals should be--

Just as he’s turning around to look, Kaito catches a glimpse of green and his gaze fixes on him; sitting huddled against a wall by the luggage pickup area. Looking small, really, his arms looped around his legs and his face buried in his knees. Kaito forces himself to calm down, rather than tearing over there, and walks at a controlled pace, stopping in front of Rantaro and sinking down to crouch.

“Hey,” he speaks softly. Rantaro’s head shifts but doesn’t lift. His grip on his elbows, however, appears to tighten. Tentatively, Kaito reaches out to cradle the side of his face, pushing messy green locks of hair away from the sides of his eyes. “What’s up, Rantaro?”

Finally, he lifts his head, and Kaito bites his lip. Rantaro is crying. He knew that, over the phone, but it’s one thing to hear it, it’s another thing to actually see the tears dripping down his face. He looks vulnerable, but beyond that he looks tired, and Kaito kind of wants to tuck him into his arms and never let him leave. After a moment, Rantaro manages a watery smile, but it vanishes a second later, and his breath catches in his throat, a choked noise leaving him. “Nothing,” he whispers. “Nothing’s up, nothing  _ happened,  _ I just--”

Kaito, for all his faults, knows a thing or two about how to handle it when people are crying. He’s shaken seeing it from Rantaro, Rantaro who, despite getting injured so often, has always seemed somewhat infallible, and who Kaito has never seen cry before. Without waiting for Rantaro to continue, Kaito gently pulls his arms away from his body, relaxes his legs a little bit, and envelopes him in a hug. Kaito gives  _ good  _ hugs. There’s a science to it. Usually, the tighter they are, the more cathartic they are. And when the person who he’s hugging is upset, then there’s a fair amount of other touches, fingers running through their hair, hands rubbing up and down their back, that need to happen to.

Against Kaito’s sweatshirt, which Rantaro’s clutching the back of like a lifeline, he mumbles, “You’re wearing the hoodie I gave you.”

“‘Course I am,” Kaito mumbles, wondering if he should be engaging Rantaro right now, or just letting him cry. “It’s my favourite sweatshirt.”

Rantaro says something, but it comes out more like a sob. His shoulders are shaking a moment later, and Kaito leans down to press a very light, very chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

On the drive back to Rantaro’s apartment, Kaito stops by a twenty four hour cafe and gets a couple hot chocolates. Rantaro speaks, finally, after drinking what must be a third of it, in a quiet, hoarse voice.

“I should explain what that was.” His voice is weak. Weak enough that even a feeble burst of wind could knock it out. Kaito takes one look at him, eyes red and swollen from crying, cheeks flushed and streaked with tear tracks, and then shakes his head, huffing out a laugh.

“What you  _ should  _ do is rest your eyes, because mine always hurt like hell after I have meltdowns like that.” He says. He catches Rantaro smiling out of the corner of his eye. “You tell me when you’re ready, Rantaro. Not a second sooner. I won’t hear a word of what you say until you convince me that you’re talking because you want to, not because you feel obligated to.”

After a moment, Rantaro whispers, “I don’t know if I deserve that kind of patience.”

  
“Well, I think doing things because someone deserves them is fucking stupid, so, there you go.” Kaito shrugs. “I’m giving it to you, man. If it turns out to be the wrong choice, then that’s on me. But I really don’t think it will.”   
  
Rantaro doesn’t say anything else, until Kaito is walking him to his door, where he softly, softly, asks if Kaito will stay. There’s really only one answer that Kaito can give.


	6. Plus One

It’s not really a date, more of a study get-together. It’s definitely the most relaxed date that Kaito has ever been on, if it can even really be called that, but that’s pretty in-character for Rantaro. He just shows up at Kaito’s door with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a bright brin and asks, “How’s studying for your finals going?” and then they’re sitting across from each other at a cafe, working through the mountain of text that Kaito has to go over by next Monday, when finals start.

Rantaro’s workload is considerably less, since he’s taking classes part-time. Kaito considers envying him for a moment, but decides that ultimately, his life is a lot less taxing than Rantaro’s is. He, after all, isn’t the one who went to the hospital in January with a bullet wound.

He’s a good study partner though, Rantaro is. Easy-going and friendly enough to maintain a comfortable atmosphere, and smart enough to remember terms when quizzing Kaito on them. For someone who has an atrocious lack of knowledge when it comes to rocks, he sure can remember their names.

“Y’know,” Kaito says during a break in the material. “I’m beginning to think that you only pretend to be bad at geology to make fun of me, man.”

“Really?” Rantaro’s lips curl into an aggravatingly attractive smirk, his eyebrows raising. “Maybe I’m just getting my act together now that finals are coming up. We’re in the same class, y’know.”

“Uh-huh.” Kaito takes a long sip of his coffee, giving Rantaro as skeptical a look as he can muster. Rantaro just starts laughing, and while Kaito tries to maintain the indignant look, it quickly melts off his expression the longer Rantaro laughs for. Suddenly he’s thinking about the first formal conversation they ever had, when Rantaro came to his door in November, and how hard they laughed back then, too. This time, though, it can’t be accounted for by the hour. Kaito can’t help laughing himself, and it feels good. The stitch in his chest is easy to ignore, seeing Rantaro smile like that.

The door to the cafe, near where they’re sitting, opens and closes. A couple enters, and Kaito ignores them for the most part, looking back down at his work, but then the barista is nagging at them, citing a sign on the door outside that says  _ no cigarettes  _ and asking them to please put out the offending cancer sticks.

Barely more than a second after these words are exchanged, the smoke hits Kaito’s nose, and he chokes on his next laugh as it leaves his mouth.

Cigarette smoke sets of his asthma like crazy, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. Through moderately painful, throat tearing coughs, he reaches into his pocket, feeling around for his inhaler. He must have gotten the wrong pocket though, because his hand comes up empty, and then Kaito can’t focus on finding it, because there’s a jagged spike of pain shooting through his chest, and he can’t stop coughing.

“Kaito?” Rantaro sounds alarmed, but Kaito barely hears him in his struggle to suck in a breath. He’s choking, actually, choking on his own tongue, or  _ something,  _ because he can’t breathe at all, can’t stop alternating between hoarse, painful coughs and gasping wheezes, keeling forward and resting his forehead on the table as his lungs spasm. Shit.  _ Shit.  _ It was just one inhalation of the cigarette smoke, how could it possibly--

There are hands on his shoulders, or rather one on his shoulder, the other resting on his back, guiding him so that he leans, back, tilting his head back a little bit. The hand on his shoulder vanishes and slides into one of his pockets, and then cool plastic is being pressed into his mouth-- and this part is familiar, Kaito thinks, inhaling sharply and feeling his lungs expand all of a sudden. He’s lightheaded, though, and he tastes blood on his tongue, and suddenly he knows he’s going to pass out, but he doesn’t want to do it lying back in his seat like an idiot, so he leans forward again, and the person who’s holding him (Rantaro, he thinks, registering the scent of evergreen) cradles him there, fingers combing through his hair.

Rantaro’s voice says, “Call an ambulance,” and then Kaito blacks out, unable to muster the energy to care about what he’s hearing before he goes.

When Kaito comes to, everything is so familiar that for a moment he doesn’t even think to question the circumstances that brought him back into a hospital bed. Beeping. Bright lights. Uncomfortable mattress. Whatever. Business as usual. Kaito closes his eyes, fully prepared to fall back asleep, only he realises after a moment that there’s a hand holding his, one that is smooth and large and so unlike his grandparents’ or Shuichi’s or Maki’s that he is forced to reevaluate why he’s here. The realisation startles him, and then he opens his eyes, preparing to shoot upwards in his seat, only--

“Careful,” Rantaro says quietly. “You don’t want to have another attack.”

When his words sink in, Kaito snorts. “That’s never happened to me from sitting up too fast,” his voice is absolutely wrecked, but that’s pretty normal. He hasn’t had an attack like that in a while. When he meets Rantaro’s gaze, he sees that the other guy looks pretty awful himself. Worried, probably. His hair is a mess. (And maybe his eyes are a little bit red, but Kaito pushes that observation to the side.) He decides not to make fun of him.

“Your grandparents are here. And your friends. Uh, Saihara and Harukawa. Outside, though. Your grandparents would be in here, but they said something about spending their fair share of time waiting for you to wake up in high school, and since there was no concern you wouldn’t, they-- well, anyway. They asked me to tell them when you woke up.” Despite saying as much, Rantaro makes no move to go to the door. His green eyes are trained on Kaito’s face. It’s, uh, a little uncomfortable, actually. Makes Kaito feel a bit nervous. He swallows, registers the ache in his throat when he does so. Shit.

“Did I worry you?” Kaito asks, feeling himself frown. “That kinda thing is pretty normal, y’know. Not much to worry about.”   
  
“Really?” Rantaro’s brows knit together. “That’s-- normal, for you?”

“Not so much recently,” Kaito admits, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that Rantaro isn’t currently holding. “But when I was in high school? Man. I was their greatest customer in here.” He chuckles, but he can hear the bitterness, even in his own voice. Rantaro’s gaze is heavy, and so clearly upset that Kaito finds himself unable to meet it. “You really shouldn’t worry about it, I’m doing oka--”

“When you went unconscious, in the cafe--” Rantaro breaks off. His expression is screwed up a bit, like he’s not sure if he wants to continue. “I-- I thought-- I didn’t even know what to do. I asked one of the baristas to call an ambulance, and then I just-- I froze. I gave you the inhaler but you still went out, and you weren’t really  _ breathing.  _ I could barely feel your heartbeat. It was scary.”

“You thought I was dead?” Kaito asks, and Rantaro glares down at his lap, looking as though he feels a bit ashamed to be admitting what he is. “Rantaro, I’m-- I’m not gonna die.”

  
“I know. I think I knew that, back there, too. Somewhere, I knew that, or else I would’ve lost it, I guess.” Rantaro bites his lip. “But still, I-- you felt so limp in my arms. It was fucking--” Kaito has  _ never  _ heard him swear before. It takes him entirely off his guard. “Is that how you feel? When I come back with some kind of injury?”

Kaito has to consider the question. “When you got shot, yeah. I couldn’t freeze up because I was alone, but I wasn’t entirely sure that you weren’t going to die. Never dealt with a bullet wound before. It was definitely terrifying seeing you so pale and unconscious with your stomach seeping blood.”

“How do you deal with it?” Rantaro asks faintly. “You’re always so collected when I come to your door. It seems like you know exactly what to do.”

Really? Because Kaito is pretty sure that when he was dealing with the head injury, he said  _ shit  _ at least ten times. “There isn’t much of an alternative, is there? Either I get my shit together and do something, or I lose you. And I know which one is worse.” Kaito hesitates after finishing, wondering if he said too much. But he’s not  _ dense,  _ Rantaro is holding his hand right now, and he’d have to be stupid to miss out on the connotations of what Rantaro is saying.

“I’m sorry.” Rantaro murmurs eventually.

“What? What are you sorry for? You saved my life just now, I don’t need you to--”

“No,” Rantaro interrupts. “Sorry for getting hurt so much. Putting you through it. I didn’t realise how much it--” he breaks of. “I don’t tend to have much awareness of the impacts of my actions, I guess.” He concludes. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing apologising to me,” Kaito rolls his eyes. “It was scary as hell when you collapsed at my doorstep, I’ll have you know, but you have your reasons for the things you do. The situations you put yourself into. You said it has something to do with your sibling? Or siblings?” When Rantaro nods, hesitant, Kaito continues. “Yeah. If Maki or Shuichi needed me… I’d do any number of crazy, dangerous things to make sure they were okay. Without a doubt.”

Rantaro appraises him. “Maybe I was wrong when I said you wouldn’t get it.”

“It depends on what the situation is.” Kaito shrugs. “If you’re out there killing people for some reason, I dunno if I could necessarily empathise, but--” and then Rantaro is laughing again, shaking his head. He squeezes Kaito’s hand.

“If that’s where your mind goes, you’ll probably think what I’m doing is pretty tame.” He says.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Kaito warns. “It got you shot.”

“That was an outlier and shouldn’t be counted,” counters Rantaro. “I’ve only been shot maybe three times.”

“That’s three more times than me, and any other person I know.” Kaito frowns. Who was it that tended to those other two injuries? Mukuro, Rantaro’s friend, maybe. His father? Kaito thinks about the brisk, dismissive man he met in the hospital. Doesn’t feel likely. He shakes his head to clear the frown from his face. “Anyway, I’m sorry for scaring you. Didn’t mean to start coughing like that. That’s my bad.”

Snorting, Rantaro says, “Well, you shouldn’t feel too guilty. Just consider it the first of many things I’m going to have to do to make it all up to you, and then this the second.”

“Yeah?” Kaito smiles. “What’s  _ this,  _ then?”

“An explanation.” Rantaro replies, exhaling. “One that’s long overdue.”

“Hey, I told you already,” Kaito starts to say. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t--”

“No, I want to.” Rantaro reassures. “That’s why I’m telling you. I promise I’m not saying it because I feel pressured. I really want you to know.” And there’s something in his eyes that makes Kaito feel inclined to believe him. So he inhales, nods, and then cracks a small smile.

“Okay.” He says, quietly. “I’m listening.” And as Kaito squeezes his hand, Rantaro begins to speak.

**Author's Note:**

> love this pairing. it doesn't get nearly enough attention and i'm so salty about it afjkdshf
> 
> i've been hyperfixating on these two for a while so here i am. it's one in the morning. i'm vibing
> 
> is this sloppy??? yes. but will i fix it????? fuck no
> 
> hope you enjoyed :3


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